


Cheesecake

by cleo4u2



Series: Remembering Steve Rogers [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Amnesia, Consensual Kink, Dom Bucky Barnes, Fluff and Smut, Kink Discovery, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Self-Discovery, Shameless Smut, Sub Steve Rogers, The Cake Is A Lie, all the sex, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 16:49:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7471524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/pseuds/cleo4u2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Bucky doesn't run away to Bucharest. Instead he stays with Steve in Brooklyn, working together to make him better. What they discover is how kinky Steve Rogers really is. Smutty smut smut</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blank Slate Day

**Author's Note:**

> I have a beta! [NurseDarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/profile) is wonderful and amazing.

No one is quite sure what they did to Bucky's mind. What he remembers is fluid, changing day to day, sometimes hour to hour. He forgets fragments, or suddenly remembers some stupid story even Steve's forgotten. Sometimes he looses entire chunks of his life. Some days he wakes without remembering the War, before Steve took the serum, and he feels like he's dropped into one of his sci fi novels. Those are easy days where Steve shows him all the new technologies and they make love recklessly, Bucky glorying in not having to treat Steve with kid gloves. The worst and rarest is when he wakes as the Winter Soldier, blank, searching for a mission, a handler. Those days are hardest on Steve, but they're happening less frequently than the others. 

For Bucky, it's hardest when he can't remember _anything_. When he's a blank slate, no name, no history, and some vague and disturbing skills. They're more common than Winter Soldier days, but Bucky's grateful for that. Steve has suffered enough for his sake and it's only _really_ bad when the world needs Captain America so he wakes alone, scared, without a support system. He's obviously not fit for missions and they don't know if he ever will be. Bucky hasn't decided how he feels about that, yet.

When he first came in from the cold, Tony and Steve had forced doctor after doctor on him. He never understands half of what they said so he makes Tony come to his appointments now. All he's understood is that his mind is functioning a bit like someone with Alzheimer's and no, they don't know if it's permanent. They don't know if it will get worse, or if it will get better. Bucky made Tony promise not to tell Steve it could get worse. For once, the smartass didn't argue.  
Bucky can't really complain about any of it because, except for Winter Soldier days, they've all had a positive effect on his relationship with Steve. Before their weird adventures with Bucky's memory, Steve was wound _so tight_ when it came to sex. It's nothing new; sex terrified Steve in the 30s because it was illegal. Bucky thinks he doesn't know how to be anything else. They don’t talk about it. Bucky doesn’t know how and Steve is terminally shy.

Then Bucky wakes for the first time without any memories. He’s twisted around a complete stranger, naked, in an unfamiliar bedroom. He didn't move, not at first, taking in their shared bedroom; the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, the blue bedspread, sheets, and sleekly modern furniture. Steve's paintings adorn the walls, and he likes them, but he doesn't know how important they are. How he had to force Steve to pick up his art again because no one else even remembered he was an artist. Their clothes are scattered on the floor, further evidence of an exciting evening that Bucky can't remember. His eyes catch on the picture of Steve and him sharing ice cream at Coney Island, taken by Sam on a beautiful Summer afternoon. The thing is, on a Blank Slate day he can't even remember what he looks like, and the couple are strangers. Strangers obviously madly in love, but still strangers.

Bucky wonders if he's a homewrecker. Steve, or as Bucky is now thinking of him 'The blond in the photo', stirs, nuzzles into his neck, and rolls atop him.

"Morning," he purrs, voice deep and sexy and there is no doubt in Bucky's mind _why_ he went home with the stud. He's Bucky's every wet dream, even if he can't recall any of those right at this moment and it's starting to scare him. With his arms full of blond hunk, it's easy to push the feeling down and away. The guy may be taken and Bucky can't remember his name, but he's _hot_ and willing and if he turns down this opportunity his name isn't-

His name is-

_What the hell is his name?_

Panic sets in and Bucky rolls, taking the blond with him, so he's now lying on top of him. Taking each broad shoulder in hand, he pushes down firmly to stop the man's necking. Now he can look down into striking, ice blue eyes that are so familiar he wonders if they've been having this affair for a long time. Maybe he just hit his head last night. Amnesia is caused by head injuries, right?

"Listen, gorgeous, as much as I'd love to continue what you're starting, I've got a problem and I need your help."

"Whatever you need, Buck," the man says lazily while simultaneously wrapping his long, muscular legs around _'Buck's'_ hips. It's incredibly distracting and, anyways, what kind of name is Buck? Is that _his_ name? That's a fucking stupid-ass name. If he's lucky, it's just a stupid-ass nickname.

"Right, uh, are we having an affair?"

The question stops Mr. Gorgeous in his tracks, drains the kissable smile from his lips, and 'Buck' almost plays it off as some weird role play kink. Except he's too freaked out and really needs answers about what is going on. Then the smile is back, if a bit strained, so maybe the question isn't _that_ weird.

"What's the last thing you remember, Buck?" Mr. Gorgeous asks because _Steve_ thinks he's having an Old Bucky day.

It's not an answer to his question, but 'Buck' can't think of a reason not to answer when Mr. Gorgeous isn't at all surprised to see _him_. So he reaches back and comes up with nothing. Nothing about the day before, or the week, or the year, or the _decade_.

"I don't- I can't-" he stumbles and the panic must be showing now because Steve's eyes widen and he pulls Bucky close.

"It's okay, sh, it's okay, Bucky."

His name is _Bucky_? That's not at all better than Buck.

"Your memory can be a bit- a bit tricky. I'm sure this is temporary." Except Mr. Gorgeous looks as scared as Bucky feels so he's not sure he believes the statement. And apparently Mr. Gorgeous can read him like a book because he takes Bucky's face in his hands and says with far more confidence, "You're going to be fine. We're here, together, and I won't leave until we get this sorted."

That, at least, he can believe.

"Who - I'm sorry; who are you?"

"Steve, Steve Rogers," Mr. Gorgeous answers, "and no, we're not having an affair. We're going steady."

"Going steady," Bucky repeats skeptically. For some reason he thinks that shouldn't be allowed, or that Steve shouldn't be with _him_ , or _something_ he can't quite remember. Something about that guy in the picture? It's the first time his feelings have felt like memories, though, so it's comforting and he tries to ignore it.

"Yes," Steve says with an amused grin, "steady. You're my boyfriend, Bucky Barnes, and I'm the luckiest guy in all Brooklyn ‘cause you're mine." 

Bucky snorts. 

"Pretty sure, looker like you, _I'm_ luckier." 

At that, Steve blushes and it's so fucking sexy that Bucky wants to kiss him. He doesn't; it doesn't feel right. He's not 'Bucky Barnes', he doesn't know who Bucky Barnes is. Kissing Steve is probably incredible, but it also feels like stepping on someone else's toes. 

"Look," Steve says, "I'm going to call the doctors and Tony. Why don't you get in the shower and get cleaned up. We, uh, had a long night, last night." Somehow, Steve manages to blush even brighter. 

Tilting his head, Bucky observes the way the blush spreads down his chest and slowly grins. Even when having sex _with him_ , Steve can't talk about it. It's the most adorable thing Bucky thinks he's ever seen. There is no way he can keep his resolve to be a good boy now. 

Settling himself firmly on Steve, he tightens his hold on the broad shoulders and feels his - he tries the word out - boyfriend shiver. He's already noticed one his his arms is made of metal and not flesh, but he's assumed that's normal. Now he discovers he has more strength with that arm when Steve goes to slide away and he easily holds the muscle-bound hunk in place. He's not sure what he expects when he does this, but it's not the way Steve's eyes dilate from clear blue to black from one heartbeat to the next. 

"Bucky," Steve says, voice rasping as if he's been screaming and not holding a perfectly normal conversation. 

"You like this," Bucky says in wonder. "Do we...do this?" 

Steve shakes his head, licks his lips. Bucky slides his hands down to Steve's wrists, lifts them only so he can pin them by Steve's ears. The man actually _groans_. 

"Why?" Bucky asks curiously. "You like it." 

"I don't- We don't-" Steve is blushing harder now and _holy fuck_ that is hot. "We're kind of old-fashioned." 

"We are? So," Bucky squeezes Steve's wrists, kicks his legs apart and settles himself between Steve's legs, "you want me to stop?" 

This time Steve shakes his head so hard Bucky worries he's hurt his neck, but Bucky needs to be sure. Needs to know that Steve is okay with this because he's got no memories. Maybe this is a horrible idea. It's actually the best idea he's ever had, but he doesn't know that yet. Doesn't know that Steve can't talk about sex any time _other_ than when Bucky is a blank slate. 

Bucky doesn’t know that yet either. Doesn’t know it's the only time Steve’s not afraid he'll disappoint him, which is stupid because Bucky just remembers everything later and would never be disappointed with Steve. 

"I don't know you," Bucky says, "I may love you, but I don't remember that. If I fuck you-" 

" _Please_ ," Steve gasps. 

Bucky's cock twitches and he can't remember why he needed to be so sure Steve wants this. Slowly he leans down, brushes their lips together in a chaste kiss. Neither shuts his eyes, staring as Bucky does it again and again. The third time is too much and Steve pushes against his hands. Tries to surge up and touch him, deepen the kiss, but Bucky growls and shoves him back down. 

An honest to God _moan_ floats from Steve's lips. 

"Mine," Bucky growls. Steve moans again, writhing beneath him. "No touching, not unless I say so. You're going to take what I give you," he leans down, but pulls back as Steve arches his neck up. Instead, he turns his face to nip at Steve's ear. “And if you want me to stop, say cheesecake." 

"Cheesecake?" Steve repeats. 

Bucky nods. 

"That's right, but _only_ if you want me to stop, baby. Okay?" 

Steve nods to show he understands so Bucky pulls his hands above his head, crossing his wrists so he can hold Steve down with just the metal one. It's surprisingly easy, the metal arm whirring and clicking as it recalibrates. Bucky's pretty sure Steve doesn't _want_ to get free, he just wants to know that he can't. Since he can't reach all of Steve while holding him down, Bucky settles on his side next to him. The man is already naked, all laid out for him like a gift. It's a dream he didn't know he wanted to come true. 

"Spread your legs, baby," Bucky commands, "I wanna see all of you and I know you want to show yourself off," he knows no such thing, but Steve obeys and blushes so prettily while he does, "That's it. God, you're gorgeous, you know that? If I don't tell you that every day, there's somethin' wrong with me." 

"Y-you do, but," Steve's skin is breaking out in goosebumps, "I don't usually believe you."  
Bucky shakes his head, running his flesh fingers over Steve's stomach, under and around his pecs. He plucks at Steve's nipples, enjoying how that makes him squirm, and then dips into the hollows of his hips. 

"Believe me now, baby?" he asks. 

In answer, Steve moans loudly and arches his back into Bucky's touch. Laughing quietly, Bucky avoids Steve's cock entirely. He caresses his Steve’s firm, thick thighs as low as he can before nudging them even wider. Steve actually _whines_ and Bucky laughs again, but relents enough to trail his fingers back up, cupping the heavy sac between Steve's legs. 

"Didn't hear you answer me," he says, rolling Steve's balls in his hand and making him moan, "You have to answer when I ask you questions, Stevie." 

The nickname he doesn't remember using before makes Steve moan again, arching in an impressive bow off the bed. Bucky's arm whirs as he holds him down, but then Steve falls limp and he's so hard, dripping really. They may be 'old-fashioned', but this is something his Steve _needs_. The other guy, the one in the picture, does _he_ give it to Steve? Is that why _he_ gets a framed photo in their bedroom? 

"Answer me, Steve," Bucky commands even as he reaches over to turn the picture face down. Next time, Steve will show it to him first so Bucky doesn't get jealous of himself. This time, he's too far gone to even notice. 

"Yes, yes I believe you," Steve gasps, so breathless and needy. Bucky rewards him with a gentle squeeze of his balls, then slips his hand lower to run his thumb over Steve's entrance. 

"Oh God, please," Steve immediately begs, trying in vain to force Bucky's fingers inside him. 

Smiling, because Steve is so fucking gorgeous, Bucky merely brushes the tight muscle over and over, slowly circling. Steve reacts like he's being tortured, crying out as his eyes water and Bucky has hardly fucking touched him. How bad has Steve needed this? To be controlled, dominated? 

If Bucky knows how to give it, _why doesn't he_? 

"Tell me what you need," Bucky demands. 

The words make Steve sob, thrash, but he quickly gives in when Bucky doesn't let him up. 

"Fuck me, _please, Bucky_ , I need you to fuck me." 

"Okay," Bucky says and Steve goes so still, clearly thinking he would be denied, "but you have to get the lube, then lie back down exactly where you are now. If you don't, if you run, or try to touch me, we're done." 

Steve swallows, but nods, accepting the conditions to being allowed his freedom. Slowly, Bucky removes his metal hand from around Steve’s wrists and sits up. For a long moment, he just lies there as if he’s still being held down. When he moves, it’s all at once, rushing to the bedside table, yanking the drawer hard enough it pops off the rails, and not bothering to put it back once he has his prize in hand. 

He flops back onto the bed, stretching out and spreading his legs, arms above his head with the KY in his hands. He’s still blushing, trembling, and it’s the sexiest thing Bucky has ever seen even when he remembers this moment the next day. 

Once he’s carefully gathered Steve’s wrists in his hand and rested his weight on his metal arm, Steve surges up again. The fight is brief but intense, and Bucky has to hold down his hip as well when he twists. Like before, Steve fails to break free and goes limp, moaning and spreading his legs even wider. Bucky doesn’t think he’s used all his strength to fight him once. Tomorrow he’ll know he’s right. 

"Good boy,” Bucky purrs and is rewarded when Steve moans. 

With only one hand to work with, it takes Bucky longer than it would otherwise to slick his flesh fingers with the warm, tingly liquid. Beside him, Steve’s body writhes, wanting stimulation and unable to find any. When he’s satisfied they’re slick (and done enjoying the way the lubricant tingles on his skin), Bucky places his fingers in the exact same spot he had touched before to the exact same results. Steve arches, trying to get his fingers to press inside, until he realizes the futility. 

“Please,” Steve begs. 

Bucky smiles and shakes his head. 

“Soon, baby,” he promises, “I need you to answer some questions first. Did I fuck you last night?” 

Steve nods, blushing again. 

“More than once?” 

Another nod. 

“Did you love it?” 

This time the nod is frantic. 

“Tell me what you love, Stevie.”

A low whine leaves Steve, but Bucky places a little more pressure against his entrance and he caves. 

“I love it when you fuck me,” he gasps. Later, Bucky will replay this moment over and over because Steve has never once commented on the sex they have in any capacity. “Love your cock, Buck. Need it _now_.” 

“Not yet,” Bucky scolds. Another whine leaves Steve, but it’s choked off when Bucky presses two fingers past the tight ring of muscle. “Soon. Gotta get you ready.” 

"‘M ready _now_ , Buck,” Steve gasps, writhing and he’s so God damned tight. 

“Not yet, sweetheart,” Bucky croons, scissoring his fingers into Steve, stretching him. “Have to wait, but you feel so good, baby. So hot and tight, can’t wait to sink into you. Can’t remember having sex before, Stevie, and I want you so bad.” 

“ _God_ , Bucky!” 

Bucky smirks, crooking his fingers so he hits _that_ spot again and again. Steve shouts, he fights, he tries to thrust himself down on Bucky’s fingers. Steve babbles an apology and he pushes them back in, watches Steve’s muscles tense, every inch of him now beading with sweat. The writhing continues as does his fighting, but it’s getting weaker now. Steve’s becoming more pliant, moaning, gasping for air and Bucky is mesmerized. 

“You’re so fucking sexy, baby,” Bucky tells him and Steve cries out, eyes squeezing shut and he finally puts some strain on Bucky’s metal arm. “So sexy,” he repeats, “so goddamned gorgeous it hurts to look at you. You’re almost there, aren’t you? Come for me, baby. I got you.” 

Blue eyes pop open, freeing trapped tears to trail down Steve’s cheeks. He lets out a sob and jerks, crying out, shouting as his orgasm crashes over him. His cock hasn’t been touched and the wonder of that is in his eyes. Bucky is in awe, holding his Steve’s gaze as he rides the wave, knowing somehow he’s brought his baby the kind of pleasure he’s never had before. And he can’t even remember him. He doesn’t have to; it’s _Steve_. This, what they’re doing, may be new between them, but Steve has always been Bucky’s. 

“That’s it, baby,” Bucky praises him. 

When it’s over, when the fingers inside him are too much, Steve’s whining starts again. He’s not fighting now, though, he’s limp and pliant and so, _so_ gorgeous. Bucky doesn’t stop. He adds a third finger and Steve cries out his name. Soon, however, the pain turns to pleasure and Steve is writhing for him, panting eagerly, spread out on his fingers. 

Bucky doesn’t know who the guy in the picture is, but he’s going to kill him if he’s seen this. This is _his_. 

“Bucky _please_ ,” Steve begs, the first coherent thing he’s said in at least ten minutes, and Bucky finally gives in. 

Climbing over Steve’s hip, he uses his knees to spread Steve’s legs even wider. The man is begging now, nonsense words and pleas mingled with curses and praise and Bucky’s name over and over until it’s a litany of sin. His baby needs it so bad and Bucky is happy to give it to him. 

There’s no teasing now. He pushes in and Steve cries out in ecstasy as he’s filled up as much as he can be. He’s still not fighting, not since he came, but Bucky doesn’t release him. Steve needs him to hold on, hold him together, and he does. Tucking his arm under Steve’s waist, he fucks him hard, fast, rough. Holds him tight. Later, Bucky knows Steve has never been more vocal than in this moment, never enjoyed their sex _this_ much. All Bucky knows at the time is his baby is a screamer and he wants the neighbors to call the cops. 

The sweat on Steve’s skin is no longer his own. It’s dripping off of Bucky, mingling with the come smeared over Steve’s chest and stomach. The words coming from Steve are no longer coherent, the cries of an animal in heat. When he comes it's with a cry Bucky hopes the entire fucking city _block_ heard because Steve is _his_ , damn it, and - 

_And._

Bucky’s vision goes white with the force of his orgasm. When it clears, it has to be several moments later because he’s spread out on Steve’s chest, nose against his breastbone. It has to be difficult for Steve to breathe, but he’s just as limp as Bucky. More so; he’s boneless, eyes closed and expression so blissful Bucky wishes he had a camera. 

Groaning, he eases himself to lie at Steve’s side and pulls the spent man into his arms. He cards fingers through Steve’s short hair, just holding him while he pulls himself back together. They lie there for nearly an hour, no reason to speak or move. It’s perfect; it’s wonderful. Bucky prays he doesn’t forget it. Any of it. 

He will, but not for another few days. 

The rest of that day is a bit hazy. They laze about, never putting on clothes, always close enough the other can reach out and touch whenever he wants. Steve never gets around the calling the doctors. Bucky doesn’t remind him about them. He doesn’t ask Steve about their relationship, how they met, special moments they shared, either. Bucky, the real Bucky, will be back sooner or later. Today is his; Steve is _his_ . It’s everything he could need. 

He does leave himself a note to kill the guy in the picture before he steals the best thing that has happened to a schmuck like him. Steve is the one who finds it the next day and they both find Bucky’s jealousy hilarious. Steve only stops laughing when Bucky pins him to the wall. 

“You remember,” he squeaks. 

Bucky grins. 

"Yeah, sweetheart, and now I’ll never forget.” 

It’s not true, not exactly, but when he’s just Bucky he makes sure Steve always gets what he needs. 


	2. Old Bucky Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, Bucky isn't the only one with a thing for silk ties.

For the most part, whatever memories Bucky wakes up with in the morning are what he keeps throughout the day. Steve has tried everything he can think of to bring back Bucky's missing memories, especially on Winter Soldier days. Naps don't do it, looking at history books and photo albums can't jog anything loose, and not even Steve's stories about their favorite memories help. They both have to roll with it. Bucky will never be more grateful to Steve with how considerate and caring he is when Bucky can't just be Bucky. 

It's easiest when he has Old Bucky days, which are when his memories don't proceed past 1945. There are different Old Buckys: waking up and knowing nothing after 1942 is his personal favorite. The apartment is huge and confusing, but Steve is there and he's not sick anymore. Bucky can't ask for anything more than that. When he wakes sometime between 1942 and 1945, they have to deal with the effects of his capture by Hydra and PTSD from the war. Those days aren't as carefree, but they're easier than when his memories stop before 1936. In 1936, Sarah Rogers died, Steve moved into an apartment with Bucky, and within the year he'd confessed the feelings he'd been harboring for his best friend for the past two years. Before that, he was just a scared kid trying to deal with his homosexuality in a world that hates him. Hates the love he carries in his heart. It's unfair and he's terrified. Add the future to the mix, all the changes to his body, and that Old Bucky spends most of his day as anxious as a cat in a rainstorm.

The first time it happens, Bucky is alone in the apartment. Captain America is needed in Texas to defeat some evil plot or...something. They don't really tell Bucky a lot these days, seeing as he's not part of the new S.H.I.E.L.D. or an Avenger. What he does know is the world sometimes needs Steve more than Bucky does. Steve - wonderful, pigheaded, stupid Steve - needs to be needed. Part of Bucky wishes he could have Steve's back, could protect him from his own recklessness. The rest of him is just grateful he doesn't have to be a weapon anymore, and everyone agrees that the best place for him is home, healing what they've done to his mind. He doesn't have to fear being Steve's weakness.

When he's alone, Bucky has to keep busy or he'll go crazy with worry. He's taken to baking – pies and cakes and cookies, anything that's complicated enough to hold his attention. If the mission is long enough, Steve comes home to piles of baked goods spread out on every surface of their apartment. They usually take the lot down to the shelter, but not until Steve gets home. Bucky can't stop until he knows his baby is all right. This particular mission isn't supposed to last much longer than it will take Tony to get the team from New York City to Dallas and back. Six hours, tops. Bucky has already made a salted caramel chocolate chip cheesecake (cooling in the fridge), two apple pies (Steve's favorite), pumpkin spice cookies (baking in the oven), and is mixing a batter for beignets when the switch flips. 

The flip is always disorienting. Bucky remembers walking down an alley, only a few minutes from Steve and his mom's little apartment, but now he's in some kind of bakery. Instead of his best suit, he's wearing a frilly white apron and loose, grey sweat pants. In one hand he has a large wooden spoon, the other a bowl of batter that he does not remember mixing. Yet his hand stops because it was in mid-swirl around the pale green plastic bowl, so he couldn't have been walking down a street within the last half hour.

None of this scares him. It's weird and confusing, but Bucky has been blackout drunk enough times, even before he was nineteen, that he can handle waking up in a weird place with no memory of how he got there. What scares him is his arm, or rather, his _lack_ of an arm. He knows he's staring at his arm, but there's one made of flesh and the other made of metal in front of his eyes. When he tells his arm to set the bowl onto the marble counter, the metal one obeys. 

Swallowing down his fear, Bucky yanks off the ridiculously feminine apron and throws it across the bakery. With his normal hand, he traces the metal of the arm from his elbow all the way up to his shoulder. There, the cool metal joins with his flesh. It's not seamless, or smooth. Twisting his neck, he can see scar tissue puckering and pulling at his skin. It suggests that however Bucky got the arm was not easy. It also tells him that this happened a long time ago because there isn't a hint of recent healing.

How much time has he lost? Does Steve know about his arm? 

Turning around, hoping he'll find Steve's mop of blonde hair somewhere nearby so the guy can explain just what the fuck is happening, he finds an apartment more expensively decorated than any he could have dreamt of. What he thought was a bakery is, apparently, just a really big kitchen. There's only three walls. Where the fourth should be in a normal house is what he thinks is a living room. He recognizes the couch, but it's like the ones they describe in his dime store novels. A coffee table, chairs, and a bookshelf are also recognizable, but the weird black cubes of differing sizes aren't. Behind all that, the skyline is at least familiar, though he can't fathom where he got the money for a view like _that_.

He wonders if Steve spends any time sketching the skyline.

Since his best friend is obviously not in the living room, or kitchen, Bucky ignores the front door on his right in favor of the hallway to his left. There's three doors. One turns out to be an honest-to-God _private_ bathroom with a shower, toilet and sink. Another door leads him to a personal weight room, leading Bucky to think this must be Steve's home because there's a punching bag in the corner along with some weird machines. He always knew his best pal was going to be somebody. He hopes it's because someone finally saw how talented Steve is as an artist. He also hopes he doesn't aggravate his asthma too badly when he works out here.

The last door opens onto what he assumes is Steve's bedroom. Like the rest of the apartment, it's sleek and futuristic with more strange black boxes made of plastic and glass. The art on the walls is Steve's; he recognizes the hand behind the brush strokes before he even sees the tiny signature scrawled in the corner. The artist himself is nowhere in sight which means Bucky is alone in the apartment. He considers leaving, but he has to talk to Steve, and the guy has to come back home eventually.

Right? Unless this isn't Steve's apartment. Bucky's stomach drops at an even more horrible thought: Steve's _wife_ coming home first. Then again, there is only one bed and he can't picture Steve - shy, flustered, adorable Steve - sleeping in the same bed as his wife. His heart would give out from the embarrassment.

Chuckling at the thought, and reassured his Stevie is still _his_ , Bucky wanders through his best friend's space. The pictures are good: landscapes and skylines of places Bucky's never been before. He hopes Steve has. He'll have to ask if he ever saw the Grand Canyon.

It's the picture on the bedside table that brings his assumptions crashing down around his ears. Steve loves that picture. When he's just Bucky, he hates having his picture taken, but that day at Coney Island had been incredible. Steve asked and he hadn't been able to deny him a thing. His friend even got him to smile, though Bucky doesn't remember what he said exactly. On a bad day, the Winter Soldier shattered the frame, tore the original photo, but Steve just got another copy. Bucky doesn't know how and he won't ever ask. Knowing would take away the magic of Steve loving this picture of them so much to track down another copy.

Old Bucky can barely recognize himself in the man who's slung his arm over Steve's shoulders. That guy has his mom's cheekbones, his dad's nose and chin, and his hair. It's longer, but it's his. When he reaches up, he finds the weird pressure he'd felt behind his head is actually a hair tie keeping the long strands in a messy bun. The metal arm isn't in the picture, but Bucky thinks that's because he's hiding it under the gloves and running jacket. 

Tentatively, he picks up the frame and examines Steve. It's in color, which is a wonder in its own right, but the _clarity_ is what strikes Bucky. They both look happy, but Steve is... Steve doesn't look anything like Bucky remembers. There's no doubt the blond man in the photo is his Steve, but he's so much bigger. Healthier. This Steve looks like he'd do plenty of damage in a boxing ring, not keel over from an asthma attack. Hell, he looks to be taller than Bucky, which isn't possible because Steve stopped growing when he was 14.

Is he in a parallel dimension? It's all too real to be a dream.

For forty minutes, Bucky stares at the photo, comparing every detail of Photo Steve to the Steve Rogers from his memories. He knows it's forty minutes because the timer for his cookies goes off while he sits there. The buzzer is loud and a little frightening, but Bucky ignores it. Then it goes off again thirty seconds later, so he puts the photo back and heads to the kitchen. It isn't too much trouble to get the oven open and the cookies pulled out. The smell has permeated the entire apartment, so he has an idea of what the timer meant. He still doesn't know why he was baking in Steve's apartment (he's ignoring the apron he was wearing), or why Steve's got a framed photo of them by his bed, or what the hell happened to his arm, but he figures all he can do is wait. Even if this isn't Steve's house, someone has to show up eventually and they can help him find his best friend.

Thankfully, it is Steve that comes to the apartment first. When he unlocks the door, Bucky has been sitting on the couch all day, just staring out the huge windows. The deadbolt’s _clunk_ startles him enough he's quickly on his feet when Steve walks in. Like in the picture, he's big and brawny, so tall and _healthy_. A duffel bag is slung over one shoulder. His short hair is a mess, dirt and blood looks to be caked onto his face and neck, but his clothes are clean.

"I'm home," he says to Bucky, which is perfectly obvious, and Bucky's knees go weak because Steve's voice is exactly the same. "Miss me? I can smell the baking, so I think you missed me."

Steve tosses the duffle bag onto one of the expensive chairs. It's gotta ruin the fabric, but Bucky is in too much shock to say anything about it because Steve was _expecting him_ to be here when he got back. He called the apartment home and there is only _one_ bed. There could be a hidden door, but Bucky doesn't think Steve would have a hidden room in his apartment no matter how swell that would be. Which means they still live together. Which means they're sharing a bed when, with all the money Steve apparently has, they certainly don't have to.

"I think I'm losing my mind," Bucky says.

On his way to the kitchen to sample the stress baking, Steve whirls in his tracks and gives Bucky his first real look since he got home. The long lines of his shoulders tense as he sees something he obviously doesn't like, but he's Steve so he just bulls on through. Hopping over the couch, he gets his filthy shoes all over the nice fabric because he's _Steve Rogers_ and he just can't be arsed to walk around. Bucky whines, which at least gets him a grin, but not an apology.

"You're not losing your mind," Steve says as he stands before him, taking Bucky by his upper arms, "It's a long story, but the short version is you lose your memory sometimes. This is all real, I'm real-"

"You're so _big_ ," Bucky protests.

Steve laughs and pulls him into a hug. It's Steve, so Bucky doesn't resist. He holds tight and breathes in the scent of sweat and dirt and smoke.

"Yeah, and I'm healthy. I joined the Army-"

"Explains the smell," Bucky mutters; Steve ignores him.

"-and they fixed me. Yes, it's permanent. It only hurt a little. There are some side effects, but the only shitty one is that I can't get drunk any more. You lost your arm in a war, saving my life. Yes, you like the prosthetic. Means you're still stronger than me."

Pulling back a little, Steve holds Bucky at arms’ length with one hand and cups his cheek with the other. Like he's been electrocuted, Bucky's heart starts to pound at the intimate touch. He needs to focus. It should be weird that Steve's answered most of his questions without him having asked them, but he can't stop staring at Steve's lips and, _oh God_ , he's going to figure it out if he doesn't stop.

"What year do you think it is?" Steve asks out of the blue.

"Uh, year?" Bucky repeats stupidly and he needs to pull away, but Steve is so warm and-

"Yeah, the year."

"1935."

Steve sighs, deep and disappointed. It makes Bucky's stomach tighten into a ball of misery and he doesn't even know what he's done.

"Okay, normally I would just let you be, show you everything that you love about 2016-"

Gaping, Bucky stares at Steve. That can't be the year!

"-but I've had a really long day. I'm tired and all I've been dreaming about for the two hours it took to get home was eating some of your baking and getting a proper kiss. I saved the fucking world, damn it, and I deserve those things, so. You don't remember, but we've been lovers for eighty years."

Bucky's brain isn't working because Steve can't have just said they were lovers.

"Eighty years, Buck, and I'll be damned if I can't come home to a kiss from my best guy. So, what do you say? You gonna kiss me, or you gonna pretend you're not in love with me?"

It would be harder to accept if Bucky hadn't seen the bed, the photo, heard Steve's greeting when he came home. He still finds himself reeling from the question because, "When did you get so bold, Steve Rogers? Your momma would be ashamed."

"My momma would have loved that we could be together without the law or anyone else getting to say we can't. My momma loved you, Bucky. Said you were the best thing to happen to us because she knew you'd always take care of me and she was right. Even though I can't get sick any more, you _still_ take care of me."

Butterflies erupt in Bucky's stomach. He rests his hands on Steve's hips experimentally and is rewarded with a beautiful grin. He may not be little any more, but Steve is still gorgeous. He never understood how all the dames could ignore him like he was invisible, but now that doesn’t matter because he's asking to be kissed. How can Bucky ignore a request like that?

Leaning forward, he does the thing he's been dreaming of for two years. It's just a chaste press of the lips, but Steve moans and it's _perfect_. As experiments go, it's a resounding success, so he goes in for another kiss and another after that. Steve backs up to the couch and they fall on it, Bucky between his best friend's legs, his hands gripping the slim waist hard enough to bruise. From the way he moans, Steve doesn't mind. Bucky has to force himself to stop kissing Steve because it isn't right to just drag his best friend to bed without a little romance. Though it doesn't seem like Steve would mind.

"Eighty years?" he asks.

Nodding, Steve grabs him and pulls him down into another kiss. Steve is, apparently, horny as hell. A few more kisses and he's grinding against Bucky's thigh, regardless that they're both clothed. There goes being a gentleman. 

Steve's moans are growing filthy and he's sucking on Bucky's tongue like his life depends on it. It's making Bucky dizzy to discover, but Steve is apparently a slut. _Bucky's_ slut, though, and that makes all the difference. But Steve is moving too fast, getting too intense and Bucky will _not_ let their first time - well, his first time with Steve - be fully clothed humping on a couch.

Grabbing Steve's shoulders, he pushes him back against the cushions. Steve's not having it, though. There's maybe an inch between their lips when Steve grabs him again, pulling him down into another bruising kiss. He grinds harder against Bucky's thigh and he has to shove _hard_ this time to get away.

"Stop," Bucky orders.

Ignoring him, Steve tries to pull him in again while still humping against Bucky's leg. It's _incredibly_ hot, but, "I said _stop_."

"I didn't say cheesecake," Steve protests.

Really, the sentence shouldn't make sense, but how the hell does Steve know about cheesecake? It was his safe word for Delia Brant who was the kinkiest girl Bucky had ever slept with. She liked to be tied up, punished, controlled and disciplined. He'd went with her longer than any other girl because he had liked it too. Liked it too much. He broke it off because Bucky couldn't stand for Steve to find out. Even in the future he’s never confessed when he learned to do this. Later he finds out Steve guessed. Now, it only matters that Steve knows about cheesecake. It gives him permission to do more.

Beneath him, Steve has stopped trying to come on his leg. He's staring up at Bucky with his big eyes, but now his plan is obvious. Not only does Steve know about cheesecake, he knows Bucky can't recall teaching him the safe word. He's set this up and it's _brilliant_. Apparently his Stevie still can't say the word sex, but he can ask for a kiss to get what he really wants.

"You little shit," Bucky says.

Once again Steve is anything but apologetic, smiling up at Bucky now he's caught on. Yet, if there's cheesecake involved, Bucky can't let this stand. At least, he assumes as much. He doesn't _remember_ , but he does remember what he liked to do to Delia and his desires can't have changed that much in eighty years.

Bucky swallows, then makes himself relax. He's in charge here. There's no need to be nervous. Steve is his because he hasn't said cheesecake yet. Steve wants this. Bucky wants this. He takes a breath, schools his expression, and Steve actually moans.

_Jesus Christ._

"I don't care if you did save the world," Bucky says and he's all confidence now. He has the control, but this is about Steve. Making a mistake will be unacceptable when the man he loves is going to give himself over to his will. "You stop when I tell you to stop. Apologize."

"I'm sorry, Buck," Steve says obediently.

_Jesus, Mary, and Joseph._

"Good boy, but you know you have to be punished. You have to learn to control yourself and if you can't, I _will_ make you."

Lips parted, eyes dilated and dark, Steve's face is open and adoring as he stares up at Bucky. Slowly, Bucky runs the back of his hand along the exposed length of Steve's throat. His best friend shudders and moans, eyes fluttering closed at even that little contact. As much as he wants to just bend Steve over the couch, he can see the man needs this. If only he'd known sooner.

When he steps back, Steve's eyes fly open and he reaches for Bucky with a little whine. Slapping the hands away none-to-gently, Bucky scowls at his friend. The displeasure is clear and Steve blushes from the look alone before looking away. His hands drop to his sides. It's a start.

"Take off your clothes," Bucky commands.

It's something Steve wants too, so he doesn't hesitate. He practically rips his pants in half trying to get out of them, proving that this Steve is as strong as he looks. Maybe stronger. It gives Bucky an idea, one he barely hangs on to because if he thought his Steve was gorgeous, if he thought _this_ Steve is hot, it's nothing compared to having all those muscles on display. Between his legs, his friend is hard and dripping from the earlier rutting and this teasing. If he ever doubted Steve wanted this, there's none now.

_Holy Mary, Mother of God._

"Spread your legs."

Steve obeys, showing off more of his incredible body. The Army had definitely been good for his scrawny friend. The urge to lick his best friend from head to toe is strong, but Bucky has to wait. He can indulge that urge, but not yet.

"Hands behind your back," Bucky says and he sounds completely wrecked.

If Steve notices a difference, he doesn't show it. His hands are locked behind his back, forcing his broad chest to thrust towards Bucky. Both nipples are hard nubs that Bucky can't resist flicking with this finger, making Steve shudder and gasp. The sweats he's wearing can't hide how his cock twitches when he hears that sound.

"Bedroom," Bucky demands, "Do _not_ touch me, or yourself."

"I won't," Steve promises as he climbs to his feet. He leads the way to the bedroom where Bucky has him lie down on the bed on his back. Now an angry red, Steve's cock stands out proud from between his legs, swaying and weeping. It's taking all of Bucky's will power not to lick it clean.

"Where is my tie?" Bucky asks.

"Closet," Steve asks, eyes curious, but he knows better than to ask any questions. 

In the closet, Bucky doesn't find one tie like he expects, but dozens. There's one in every color and they're all made of silk. Another time he'd stop and admire the fine quality, but Steve is naked on their bed and waiting so he grabs a fistful and returns to the bedroom. 

Stopping at the edge, Bucky trails the tip of one tie over Steve's thigh, up over his hip to his stomach.

"You're strong, aren't you, Stevie?"

"Y-yeah, Buck," Steve answers, breath hitching as the fabric travels over his nipples.

"Strong enough you could tear yourself free of these, aren't you?"

Understanding seems to dawn in Steve's eyes. He nods, but still looks a little uncertain. Bucky appreciates that he doesn't _want_ to fuck up his nice ties.

Taking Steve's wrist, Bucky places it by the headboard. He reaches over his friend and does the same with his other hand. There are no slats in the head board, but he's able to knot the ties around the legs of the bed, then loop a noose over Steve's wrists. It's tight enough the man can't bend his arms, but loose enough even his Steve could get free if he really wanted. _This_ Steve could rip the seams from the expensive ties with enough flexing.

"This is your punishment, Stevie," Bucky says as he moves to the foot of the bed, intent on repeating the bindings on Steve's ankles. "You tear a single stitch and we're done. I won't touch you again all day. I won't touch you tomorrow. There won't be a consequence to using your safe word, but if you can't control yourself we're done. If you can show me you've learned your lesson, however, I'll give you what you need."

Lifting his head, Steve surveys the restraints. His chest is rising rapidly, drawing in deep, excited breaths and Bucky's hardly touched him. He's so turned on, so completely at Bucky's mercy, and it's so fucking sexy.

_God, don't let me fuck this up._

"Tell me you understand, Stevie."

"I understand," Steve parrots, head dropping back against the mattress. 

Bucky smiles.

"Good."

Since all he's wearing is the sweatpants, it takes him only a moment to strip down. Then he crawls over the footboard, between Steve's legs. His friend's breathing hitches again, neck twisting to watch as Bucky leans over his left leg and presses his lips against his calf. That simple touch has Steve's muscles flexing to keep still. 

"Fuck, _fuck_ , Bucky," Steve curses, head slamming down onto the mattress only to come up again.

"Control yourself, Stevie," Bucky says calmly.

Bucky's not nearly done, his tongue flicking out to trace the stark line of Steve's calf muscle up to his knee. Then he licks a path along the inside of Steve's thigh, nuzzles into his hip, tasting the sweat already beading on his skin. Already Steve's breathing is ragged and Bucky is honestly unsure he'll be able to control himself. That doesn't mean he stops. He tastes the dip of Steve's navel, then licks back down his friend's right leg, nipping as he reaches his ankle, only to retrace his path to Steve's belly button. The man is straining against the fabric holding him in place now, but not enough that Bucky is worried. Not yet.

Bucky takes his time mapping out Steve's torso with his mouth. Steve has a ridiculously trim waist and more abdominal muscles than Bucky thought were possible. His pecs are firm and bulging, but it's Steve's arms and shoulders that Bucky thinks are the sexiest. On these he follows every vein, every dip, every straining, strong muscle with his lips and teeth and tongue. Steve is silent, having to concentrate on not ripping himself free of the flimsy restraints. The way he breathes, though, harsh and rasping, tells Bucky how much he's enjoying his punishment. They both are.

When there's nothing left of Steve to lick and bite and taste but his cock and ass, Bucky stretches himself over his best friend and settles himself over his supine body. They're touching everywhere, hip to shoulder, and Steve can't keep himself from arching and moaning with the contact.

"So fucking sexy, baby," Bucky whispers into Steve's ear, "Never knew you were so kinky, Stevie. God, you're incredible, and you're doing so good. So good, sweetheart. You've almost earned your reward. What do you want, Stevie? You gotta tell me what you want."

" _Bucky_ ," Steve gasps, his body shudders, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

"You gotta say it, baby," Bucky pushes because Steve is blushing and it's so pretty. He wants more. "What do you want?"

"F-fuck me," Steve whispers.

"Louder," Bucky says as he bites Steve’s earlobe.

“Fuck me!” Steve shouts.

_I’m going to hell. I’m so going to hell._

“I will,” Bucky promises. Some of the tension goes out of Steve. “But you have to hold on a little longer. Gonna get you ready for me.”

A whine leaves Steve, but he doesn’t argue; he’s learning. Bucky climbs off him reluctantly, missing the feel of their skin pressed together as soon as it’s gone. With some direction from Steve he finds the lubricant. It’s difficult to get himself between Steve’s legs with them tied down the way they are, but his baby helps and he gets one finger inside. Bucky’s a little surprised by how easy it is, that Steve doesn’t squeeze about him like a vise. Without any difficulty, he fits in another finger. The first had Steve groaning and straining against his own instincts to pull at his restraints. The second makes him cry out, the sound echoing in the expansive apartment.

“Like that?” Bucky teases.

“More,” Steve begs, “Need you, Buck. M-make me ready for you.”

_Holy fucking Christ._

Bucky never thought he would hear Steve beg. Never thought it would be so filthy and hot. Twisting his fingers, he hesitates to add a third, but he thinks maybe his baby can take it. With only one way to find out, he pushes in a third finger slowly and carefully. Letting out a keening cry, Steve’s back arches from the bed, shoulders pressing hard into the mattress. It’s obvious he loves it though, that it doesn’t hurt because he’s shouting, “Yes, yes, yes,” over and over. 

Wanting to hear more, to hear Steve scream for him, Bucky thrusts with his fingers and surprises himself when he hits the sweet spot the first time. His baby nearly comes off the bed and it’s the first time Bucky is afraid he’ll tear free of the restraints. Yet Steve holds himself back, holds himself still, and instead screams at the ceiling. It’s the first time Bucky’s heard that sound _ever_ , not that he knows that. He’s never gotten his baby to let go like that before and it’s beautiful. The tension goes out of his glorious body as Bucky fingers him; he just screams and cries out, shouts at the ceiling in wordless pleasure. The sight is so overwhelming that Bucky forgets to stop before Steve comes.

Steve’s voice gives out as his body actually shakes through the waves of pleasure when he comes. It’s an even better sight than earlier. It’s overwhelming, seeing the man he’s loved silently for two years come undone from just his fingers. Bucky wants to freeze the moment in time, so much so, he doesn’t realize he's stopped fingering Steve. Then he whines and twists his hips, still hard, nowhere near finished. It’s a relief because if Bucky can’t fuck Steve he thinks he’ll go insane.

“God, baby,” Bucky breathes in awe of just how lucky he is.

“Please, Bucky, please,” Steve whispers. “I need... I need it. I’ve been good; _please_.”

“Okay, baby, okay,” Bucky murmurs soothingly. “Just hold on. Gonna untie you, then I’ll give you what you need.”

Sliding down the bed, he quickly pulls the knots on the restraints binding Steve to the bed. The whole time, his baby begs, begs for more and please and now. Bucky whispers back, trying to soothe with words because Steve has given everything to him now. He doesn’t even move when the restraints are gone, lying pliant on the bed despite how desperate he is. 

“You’re so perfect, Stevie,” Bucky whispers as he crawls over the long, strong body, “So beautiful; you were always so beautiful.”

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve’s voice breaks on the word, his fingers twitch, but he doesn’t move. He’s limp as his legs are moved, rearranged, and his hips lifted into the air.

“You’re okay, Stevie,” Bucky promises as he guides himself into Steve’s entrance, “I’ve got you.”

Steve whispers, “Bucky,” over and over as he begins to move. His eyes are closed, face turned away as tears stream down his cheeks. He’s wrecked, falling apart, and so far gone Bucky thinks there’s a chance he won’t be able to remember the safe word.

With his metal arm beneath Steve’s hips, holding him up, Bucky uses his flesh hand to turn Steve’s face back to him. He doesn’t stop moving; thinks that will be worse than ignoring Steve’s obvious distress. The man needs this, needs them to be connected, to be filled. He can’t stop.

“Open your eyes, Stevie,” Bucky commands. “Come on, punk, look at me. Let me see those beautiful baby blues.”

Steve hiccups a sob and slowly forces his eyelids open. 

“There’s my boy,” Bucky croons, brushing away his tears. “You’re okay, baby. It’s okay. You did so well, sweetheart. You were so good, but it’s okay now. I’m here; you can let go.”

With another sob, Steve finally moves, reaching up to tenderly hold Bucky’s face in his hands. 

“Bucky,” he whispers. It’s all he can say, but he doesn’t have to say anything else. Bucky dips his head, capturing Steve’s lips with his own and thrusting just a little deeper, a little bit harder. Steve groans low down in his chest and his hips start moving, rocking and pushing back onto Bucky each time he pushes in. He sucks Bucky’s tongue into his mouth and tastes of mint and heat and it’s so uniquely Steve that Bucky nearly comes undone right then and there. But his baby needs him to hold on, so he digs his toes into the mattress and holds off his orgasm by sheer force of will. He holds on, gasping into Steve’s mouth, thrusting into the man's tight heat until he doesn’t think he can last a single moment longer. Then he doesn’t have to because Steve’s coming. He’s coming and squeezing Bucky like a vise and there’s no way Bucky can stop now. He thrusts in once more, hard, and Steve whimpers as he milks the come from Bucky’s cock.

They don’t stop kissing, not through their orgasms and not after. Steve is shaking, so Bucky holds him tight and kisses him lazily, like they have all the time in the world and they do. He can’t remember the last eight decades, but he will always love Steve Rogers. He’s Bucky’s world; the sex is just a bonus.

Only when Steve’s stopped shaking is Bucky willing to pull out of his baby. The man whimpers again, but is too tired to complain extensively. When Bucky comes back with a washcloth wet from the bathroom sink, he smiles and the noise he makes this time is pure contentment. He keeps making the little sound as Bucky cleans him of sweat, dirt, blood and spunk, eyes half-closed and happier than Bucky can ever remember. 

“Why cheesecake?” Steve asks suddenly. His voice is rough from screaming, but he opens his eyes completely and Bucky doesn’t bother to avoid the question.

“I haven’t told you?” he asks, tossing the rag aside and climbing back into their bed. 

“No,” Steve murmurs, already turning into him. Bucky pulls up the covers and wraps his arms around Steve’s wider torso. That has Bucky smiling because it’s so easy to hold him close, card his fingers through his shorter blond hair. Even though Steve is taller, he still fits perfectly in Bucky’s arms.

“We could never afford it,” Bucky explains, “I had it once when I was a kid. Dad got it as a gift from his boss’ wife for some extra work he did. It was so good, decadent and sinful, and the best tasting dessert I’ve ever had. I asked for it at Christmas, but we couldn't afford it. So when I met Delia-”

“I thought you were going to marry her,” Steve mutters.

“Nah, though if I’d had to pick a dame over you, it would have been her. She taught me...Well, when we had to pick a safe word, I went with cheesecake. It was too good and something I wasn’t allowed to have. When she- when you say it, it reminds me I can’t have everything I want.”

“I know you’ve been with loads of women before me. You don’t have to pretend you weren’t.”

Bucky shrugs.

“They never mattered, Stevie, and I don’t like... I don’t like you thinking of me using them.”

Steve stirs a little, looking up at him curiously.

“Using them?”

“Yeah,” Bucky tucks the blankets closer around Steve’s back, “It’s always been you, punk. When I didn’t think I could hide how I felt any more, I’d go find a girl to hook up with. You were always sayin’ I needed to respect women more and I- I just don’t like you thinking bad of me.”

A yawn makes Steve’s jaw crack and he settles even heavier against Bucky’s side.

“I like cheesecake,” Steve says as he closes his eyes, “and I’ve never thought bad of you, Buck.”

Bucky doesn't know what to say to that.

“Get some rest, Stevie.”

There’s no reply; he’s already fallen asleep. Bucky resists for as long as he can manage. They never got around to discussing what was wrong with his memory so he wants to savor the moment. Eventually, he’ll succumb, but when he does he can’t watch the even rise and fall of Steve’s chest. There’s not a single hitch, no rattle; his baby really is healthy. Healthy and whole and somehow here with him eighty years later. A miracle, Bucky thinks as he slips into sleep.

When he wakes the next morning, he’s just Bucky and Steve is pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses to his throat. 

“So, bondage,” he says casually. 

Bucky doesn’t have to look to know his baby is blushing. Still Steve is the bravest man he knows, so he sits up and takes Bucky’s face in his hands.

“I love you. All of you, no matter what you remember, every flaw, and every sin you think you’ve committed. I love you; don’t ever doubt that.”

Bucky swallows hard.

“What’s brought this on?”

“You, yesterday. I’d forgotten how hard you used to try to make me proud and you hide it so well these days. Just,” he runs his thumb along Bucky’s cheekbone, “I see you, Buck. I see you and I love you. You gotta know that.”

“Yeah,” Bucky clears his throat, “Yeah, I know. Um, so I made you pie.”

Steve’s smile is slow and beautiful. 

“Apple?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Follow me on Tumblr ](http://cleo4u.tumblr.com/)


	3. Winter Soldier Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They see the last Winter Soldier day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NurseDarry went through this and it's so much better now. I don't hate it any more and now you have to blame her if you like it. If you don't, you still gotta blame me XD

They see the last Winter Soldier day one rainy evening in April, nearly a year after Bucky’s escaped from Hydra. It’s all Steve’s fault and no, Bucky doesn’t mean that another way. The idiot nearly gets himself killed, though he swears he had everything under control. There is no controlling the Winter Soldier, so that’s a crock of shit. 

It starts with a fight over who should have bought milk. It’s stupid, but they’re both so angry they’re vibrating, and the apartment echoes with the shouting. Bucky storms out, slamming the door behind him to keep the fight from escalating from a shouting match to physical violence.

Their relationship is rock solid, always has been, but they’ve known each other so long they know exactly how to press each other’s buttons. When they get worked up, like today, they’re also too stupid to avoid the soft places. They jab their words like spears and, in the 30s and 40s, they had come to blows a few times. Bucky won’t let that happen again. Can’t. Not with what floats around in his head. Not after the helicarrier.

It’s fucking milk so Bucky figures out pretty quick he’s overreacted. Steve did as well, but that’s not important. He hates fighting with Steve, hates leaving things bad, so he doesn’t waste any time once he knows he’s been an idiot. He turns around and runs the three blocks home. He crashes through the front door and is immediately slammed against the nearest wall.

Unless Bucky pushes, Steve never asks for anything during sex. That’s not to say he doesn’t make his needs obvious. He just doesn’t use words; doesn’t have to, usually. For someone incapable of sexual communication, Steve knows how to make his desires known when he needs to. Like now, for example.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, “I was stupid, I’m so sorry,” and his mouth is on Bucky’s. He doesn’t let Bucky say a word, kisses him like he’s drowning. Gasping from the surprise and adrenaline, Bucky clings to his shoulders and moans. He knows the ride he’s in for and all he can do is hold on.

The zipper of his hoodie catches as Steve yanks it down, but Steve’s filled with an uncontrollable urgency and keeps pulling until the metal splits. Bucky moans; he loves that. Steve doesn’t get like this often and when he does the sex is incredible. The t-shirt Bucky’s wearing is ripped in half and, fuck, that’s hot. He doesn’t even care that he liked that t-shirt. It’s not like it’s a tie.

Now he’s got only his shoes and jeans on, the jacket on the floor and his shirt hanging from his shoulders. Steve slides his hands over Bucky’s hips, behind his back and down into his jeans. Moaning louder, Bucky arches into Steve as Captain fucking America grabs two handfuls of his ass and squeezes. That’s his weakness, simple as it is, so he bites at Steve’s lips in revenge. It makes him groan, but he pulls away to bury his face in Bucky’s neck, getting his own revenge when he lifts Bucky using the same hold.

“Fuck, yes. Stevie, God, yes,” Bucky babbles, throwing his legs around the trim waist. “Gonna fuck me, baby?”

Too busy sucking a mark onto Bucky’s neck, Steve doesn’t answer. He does pull his hands from Bucky’s pants, fumbles blindly with his belt, and whips it to the floor. He’s no gentler when he goes for Bucky’s jeans, but that’s what he likes about Steve when he’s like this. He takes and it’s a relief. If Bucky had to lead all the time, he’d lose his mind.

They both have to help to get his jeans off, but soon they’re in a pile on the floor. Bucky’s underwear gets the same treatment as his shirt, and he wonders if Steve has any idea what that does to him.

“Too many clothes,” Bucky gasps, yanking at Steve’s shirt. While he’s naked, Steve hasn’t removed a stitch. He doesn’t pull his mouth from Bucky’s throat, either. “Baby, please,” Bucky begs. “Need to touch you.”

That gets through to Steve and he pulls away just long enough to pull his shirt over his head. Then his mouth crashes down on Bucky’s again and he’s the one drowning.

Steve steps backwards and Bucky wraps his arms around Steve, even as he locks his legs in place. Somehow they make it to the bedroom without running into anything, Steve’s tongue in Bucky’s mouth the entire time. Next to the dresser, Steve slams him back against the wall and Bucky isn’t ashamed of how loud he moans. Now he knows they won’t be going to the bed; Steve’s going to fuck him right here. They’re only in the room because this is where the lube is. He’ll have to stash some in the living room for next time later.

It’s _perfect,_ and then the fucking switch flips.

Fumbling to open the drawer without pulling his lips from Bucky’s, Steve is completely oblivious when it happens. The Winter Soldier takes half a second to reorient himself, take in the room, the man holding him up, then he attacks.

Twisting, he slips out of Steve’s hands, plants his feet while simultaneously grabbing the unknown threat by the throat. Kicking a leg behind the man’s knee, he knocks it from beneath him while bending him back. Caught off guard, the unknown threat goes where the Soldier wants, landing on his back, bent awkwardly over the dresser without leverage to pull himself up again.

“Shit,” Steve curses.

He’s a quick study, his Steve. Already knows that Bucky is gone.

“You are not my handler,” the Soldier states.

“N-no,” the unknown threat answers, having trouble breathing from how tight the Soldier is squeezing his throat. He’s not struggling, though, and that has the Soldier’s interest. “I’m- I’m your reward.”

Bucky will want to kill him for that later.

“Reward.”

The Soldier does not get rewards. He does not understand.

“Yeah,” the reward gasps, “F-for completing the mission.”

If there was a mission, there was a handler. If the handler has brought a reward, he cannot damage the reward. He releases the throat in his hand, but doesn’t let the reward off the dresser. He is no longer classified as a threat, but the Soldier does not know how to classify a reward. Doesn’t know how to classify the erection he can feel pressed against his stomach.

“I don’t remember a mission,” the Soldier says.

“They,” the reward coughs, rubs his throat, still doesn’t struggle, “put you in the chair. Then brought you here. To me.”

“For a reward.”

“Yeah,” the reward nods, reaches up towards the Soldier’s face. The Soldier stops him, catches his wrist.

“It’s okay,” the reward doesn’t fight him, “It’s what I’m here for.”

Uncertain now, but not wanting to disappoint his handlers, the Soldier releases the reward’s wrist. The reward’s lips twist; a smile, he remembers. It’s a very nice smile. The Soldier likes it. He likes it even more when the reward touches his face slowly, which is good, running fingers over his cheek and jaw.

“You are not afraid of me,” the Soldier notices.

“No. We’ve- You’ve never hurt me.”

He’s a fucking liar, Steve is.

The Soldier steps back, pulls the reward with him. The hand on his face doesn’t leave and he doesn’t want it to. It slides down to his neck and he glances at the door. There will be handlers outside, but in here they’ve left him alone. He thinks he understands; if he disobeys, they’ll punish his reward. That is…unacceptable.

“I am not programmed for rewards.”

A sound leaves the reward and it takes the Soldier a moment to recognize laughter. He likes it; wants to hear more. There is no programming on how to make it happen again.

“You don’t get programming for this,” the reward says, “You…You do whatever you want…to me.”

For the first time, the Soldier hesitates. The skin on the reward is turning colors, red and pink, from his face down to his chest. It makes the Soldier’s stomach feel strange, his cock as well. He likes these feelings, recognizes they’re happening because he finds the reward attractive. He is not programmed to be gentle.

He requires clarification.

“Anything?”

“Unless I say ‘cheesecake’,” the reward confirms.

“Cheesecake,” the Soldier repeats. It’s a trigger, he assumes. If he hurts the reward, the word is said and the Soldier must stop. Must return to his handlers and be frozen again. This makes sense. “Okay.”

“Okay,” the reward smiles again, “You don’t remember; my name is Steve.”

“Steve,” the Soldier repeats. It’s a better classification than reward. “Take off your pants, Steve.”

Hooking his thumbs into his jeans and underwear, Steve pushes them both off his hips. Between his legs, his cock bobs at attention, still erect. He steps out of them, kicks them aside, and stands still for inspection. Eager to proceed, the Soldier places his flesh hand on Steve’s hip, finds him warm. With a little pressure, he makes Steve turnaround. Bare feet tap against Steve’s ankles and he automatically spreads his legs, leans forward when the Soldier’s metal hand gropes his ass.

He thinks he has been programmed to do this after all.

Switching hands – he’s not sure the metal one should be used on such a sensitive area – the Soldier holds Steve’s hip to free the flesh hand to run over the appealing swell of Steve’s ass. Fingers trail over skin, down between the crack, and over the entrance the Soldier knows can’t yet take his cock. His programming says it’s too tight, too dry, needs…something.

“You are not ready for me,” the Soldier says.

“I-“ the color blossoms on the back of Steve’s neck, “Y-you usually-”

“If you are my reward, you should be ready for me.”

Steve swallows.

“I’m sorry, next time-“

“That does not help us now,” the Soldier interrupts. He releases Steve, watches him stumble forward a step. “You will prepare yourself now.”

Faster than a man his size should be capable of, Steve whirls about and stares at him with eyes that seem far too large.

“Now?”

The Soldier pauses to determine if he misspoke. He did not.

“Now. I desire to watch.”

“Watch?”

Steve swallows, color mottling to white on his cheeks. The red has spread down his neck, over his ears, and even onto his torso. Licking his lips, the Soldier waits to see if it goes lower. Disappointingly, it does not.

When he looks back up, he remembers why Steve is turning colors.

“You’re shy.”

“Y-yes,” Steve stammers.

Something odd happens to the Soldier’s lips. He touches them and realizes he is smiling.

“Yes, I will watch,” the Soldier declares. “You will prepare yourself on your hands and knees.” He frowns, remembering the trigger word. “Or you can say cheesecake.”

“No,” Steve says quickly, “No, ch- No.”

From the dresser, Steve pulls out a tube of clear liquid; KY is printed on the front.

“On the bed?” Steve asks.

His head is down and he has yet to stop blushing. The Soldier remembers blushing now. He likes it. He doesn’t like that Steve is not looking at him. Doesn’t understand why, but knows it’s wrong.

Stepping forward, he takes Steve’s hand and leads him to the bed. He will be more comfortable on the mattress than the floor. It’s apparently the right thing to do because Steve looks up at him, smiles, and squeezes his hand. Then he gets into the position the Soldier requested.

When Steve is settled, the Soldier runs his hand over his shoulder, down his back. This draws forth a moan, but it’s not one of pain. Curious, he retraces the path of his touch and Steve fumbles with the lube, another moan escaping him. He continues, slowly mapping the texture of Steve’s skin on his arms, back, neck, and legs.

Steve isn’t idle, obeying his request despite his fumbling and smearing the contents of the KY tube on his fingers. He works the middle one inside himself, then adds his ring finger. With both inside, he starts stretching himself. He’s quickly panting, eyes closed, and that blush never quite leaving his neck. The Soldier doesn’t mind; likes that Steve is embarrassed. Likes listening to his harsh breathing, his soft moans. There are no other sounds in the room they’ve been given.

When Steve works himself to a third finger, he lets out a cry, but quickly stifles it.

“Don’t,” the Soldier says, his voice gentler than he’s ever made it, “I want to hear. You have a lovely voice, Steve.”

The words get him a deep moan. Soon he’s moaning freely, rocking back onto his fingers. The blush has faded as he loses himself to the pleasure, forgetting that he’s supposed to be embarrassed. The Soldier wants… He wants the blush back.

“Touch yourself,” he orders. “I want to watch you come.”

The fingers thrusting into Steve pause, stutter, and he takes a gulping breath. The back of Steve’s neck is red, as is an uneven blotch traveling down his back. It’s so pretty and sexy - he remembers the word now - just like the Soldier wanted. It’s causing the arousal in the Soldier’s stomach to blossom, expand to something almost uncontrollable. He aches in ways he’s never experienced before, but he wants to finish this. Needs to see Steve finish this.

Beneath his flesh hand, Steve trembles, but slowly takes his weight off the arm holding him up. Without hands, he has to lie face down in the mattress. He’s got three fingers inside himself, his other hand now wrapped about his cock, and he’s a delight to behold. Whimpering in embarrassment and need, Steve squeezes his cock and begins to stroke in time with his fingers.

“Just like that,” the Soldier purrs.

Steve is rocking now, the mattress muffling most of his moans and cries. He’s trying to fuck himself on his fingers and fuck his hand at once; find as much sensation as possible. He’s keening and saying something, over and over, but the Soldier can’t understand. For a moment he considers having Steve pause, find out what he’s saying, but discards the notion. It’s almost over and he doesn’t want Steve to stop. As embarrassed as he is, he doesn’t think Steve wants to stop.

Without warning, the fit body tenses and jerks as Steve shouts into the mattress and comes. It’s mouthwatering, delicious, intoxicating and enticing; words the Soldier didn’t realize he knew. He wants to watch it again, draw it out longer, maybe make Steve put something else inside himself. But, next time.

Gathering the trembling body to him, he holds Steve tucked against his chest and nuzzles into his hair. The Soldier thinks it took something out of him to do this, to expose his pleasure to another’s eyes. At least for a moment, Steve needs to rest.

When the trembling subsides, the Soldier lifts Steve again. He rearranges him so a leg is on either side of his hips. Then he spreads Steve’s ass with his hands and lowers him onto his cock. Steve cries out at the penetration, arching like a bow and clawing at the Soldier’s shoulders. He does not try to pull himself off or use his trigger word, so he lowers him until every inch of the Soldier’s cock is buried where Steve’s fingers used to be.

Slowly, the Soldier slides his hands over Steve’s thighs, along his hips, and up his back. There are as many muscles defining Steve’s body as his own. He thinks Steve is not as breakable as he first assumed, but doesn’t want to hurt him. Doesn’t want to be rough. He wants… He wants…

“Slow,” the Soldier says. “Make… Make it last. I don’t...want to leave. You. Don’t want to leave you.”

Both hands grab the Soldier’s face as Steve pulls them impossibly close. Their foreheads rest together and there’s something...tears in those blue eyes. Has he hurt Steve? Why else would he be crying?

“You never have to leave,” Steve promises. The Soldier knows it’s a lie, but the lie is a kindness. He decides that, for the moment, he’ll believe it.

“Slow,” he insists.

Steve nods and starts to move, lifting himself slowly off the Soldier’s cock and just as carefully taking it back inside himself. He leans down, presses their lips together in a kiss that’s sweet and chaste. Later, Bucky knows Steve makes love to him. It’s impossible and insane, but that’s what he does. They move together for what feels like hours. Steve leads, the Soldier touches him everywhere he can reach. The kisses never deviate from sweet, gentle presses of lips, but there’s so many, they make his lips tingle. He doesn’t want this to end, would do anything to prevent it, but everything good ends.

With his first cry, the Soldier wraps his fist about Steve’s cock and squeezes as he comes. Shuddering and moaning in pleasure, Steve bites down on his lip and paints their chests with another release. Then he collapses against the Soldier’s chest. Only the Soldier’s arms around Steve’s back hold him up. He doesn’t press for him to get up, just holds on tight, face buried in the curve of Steve’s neck.

Surely they’ll come for him soon.

Recovering faster than the Soldier expects, Steve sits up and kisses his cheek.

“Stay with me?” he asks.

The Soldier frowns; he’s not certain this is allowed. The handlers would want him to leave, return for a mission, or a wipe, or to be frozen again. He has been programmed to obey his handlers wishes... but he is willing to bear the punishment for this. It’s what Steve wants.

The Soldier stands up. Steve gasps, clinging to him, and then moans because the Soldier’s cock is still buried inside him. Turning around, he walks on his knees to the middle of the bed, carefully settles Steve against the mattress. Only then does he pull out of him. Crawling behind Steve, he presses himself to the firm back and wraps his arm around Steve’s waist. The other hand, his flesh one, he tucks beneath Steve’s head to serve as a pillow.

“Stay,” Steve whispers.

“As long as they let me,” the Soldier promises.

Despite the complete absence of fear he has displayed thus far, the Soldier is still surprised when Steve falls into a deep sleep. It’s humbling, warming, in a way nothing else has been since...since… He doesn’t remember. Is there something to remember?

That night, he doesn’t sleep. He lies there and watches Steve and waits for his handlers to come through the door. They don’t. The sun rises and Steve stirs again, rolls in his arms and burrows into his chest. He doesn’t hesitate to hold Steve close, but the movement jostles him awake.

“Mm,” Steve hums, “Morning.”

The Soldier tilts his chin up and kisses him. Against his lips, Steve smiles. When he opens his eyes, he pulls himself closer and presses his palm to the Soldier’s cheek.

“You’re still here,” he says, surprised. “Did you sleep?”

When he shakes his head, Steve’s eyes widen.

“Why not?”

“You,” he says, “and I needed to say goodbye. Asleep, I may not have gotten the chance when they came.”

Panic flares in Steve’s eyes.

“Goodbye? Why? You’re here. Don’t go.”

Frowning, the Soldier tries to understand, but fails.

“You know I don’t have a choice.” He hesitates. “Don’t be afraid. If they hurt you,” the chill of every moment spent in cryo fills his chest, “I will not let them hurt you.”

“I know,” Steve whispers.

Knowing his handlers will be angry he hasn’t returned yet, the Soldier steals one last kiss. They’ll wipe him once he leaves. Next time, he won’t remember Steve when they meet. So he kisses him. It’s goodbye. He doesn’t want it, but he won’t run from the truth any longer.

“I love you,” the Soldier says. He isn’t sure why, isn’t sure he understands fully what the words mean. That they’re true is like his programming; something he just _knows_. 

Letting out a strangled sound, Steve kisses him hard. Pushes, rolls them over, and won’t stop. The Soldier lets him, let’s him have his way and…

The switch flips again. The Soldier is gone and it’s just Bucky left with the knowledge that he could have killed Steve. He had almost killed Steve and the idiot hadn’t fought back.

Hooking both arms over Steve’s shoulders, he pulls him down into a bruising hug.

“You idiot,” he gasps and it’s he’s _overwhelmed_ with Steve’s stupidity. “You stupid, idiotic punk. I nearly- You would have let me- _God_ , you’re so _stupid_ , Steve!”

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky,” Steve chants because he’s a quick study.

“Don’t- Don’t you ‘Bucky’ me,” Bucky growls, but he doesn’t let Steve go. He can’t. He can feel his hand wrapped about Steve’s neck.

“Shh, baby, I’m fine,” Steve insists. “You didn’t hurt me. I’m okay, I’m more than okay. I swear.”

Bucky makes himself breathe, calm, and pushes Steve up so he can look into his eyes.

“Never again. Promise.”

“No,” Steve says, his jaw jutting out, “It worked. You were under control, you stayed. It’s never been that easy before when you forget Hydra doesn’t control you any more.”

“Stupid,” Bucky curses him, but it’s fond. “Idiotic… Fine, but you’re making me breakfast.”

Steve’s smile is blinding. 

“Deal.”

They don’t know it yet, won’t figure it out for another year, but Bucky never has another Winter Soldier day after the cold Fist of Hydra falls for Steve Rogers.


	4. Just Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky fight with each other, a Supervillain, and have make-up shower sex where Steve learns to talk dirty. 
> 
> Beta'd by the incredible Nurse Darry. Chapter inspired by Stalker, by Xantissa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Switching happens in this chapter with bottom!Bucky and top!Steve. Some gratuitous violence and rimming. You have been warned.

The days following the last Winter Soldier day aren’t good days for Bucky. That stubborn set to Steve’s jaw appears every time he tries to get Steve to promise not to be so stupid next time the Winter Soldier’s in control. Bucky knows better than to argue with that jaw, so he gives up, tries again later. 

His nightmares come back, the ones from the helicarrier where he doesn’t stop punching, or where he actually takes the headshot when Steve climbs away from him. Not the arm, not the torso, not the leg. The shot he avoided, though he didn’t know why at the time. Steve’s head pops like a grapefruit and he wakes screaming. Contrary to his dream, Steve is alive and well nearby and it’s the only reason he can get back to sleep.

The worst of it is they’re not having sex. Three whole days pass without so much as a hand job and Bucky’s crawling out of his skin. Normally, they have sex daily, sometimes twice. For whatever reason, Steve isn’t initiating and he’s putting Bucky off when he tries. In another deviation from normality, Bucky’s actually tries to talk to Steve about it. Of course, tall, blond, and terminally shy-unless-turned on, avoids all his blunt questions. He then destroys a punching bag, so Bucky doesn’t bring it up again.

It gets so bad by the fifth day that Bucky’s pleading with his subconscious for a Blank Slate day. It stings to know Steve can talk to the _other him_ easier than any other version, but he’ll take it if Steve will just _talk_ to him. As it stands, they’re not talking at all. Steve seems incapable of being in the same room with him and it makes Bucky want to destroy things. If Steve doesn’t fuck him, because _that’s_ what he’s dying for after their interruption, he’s not sure what he’ll do.

Then the call comes in. The special phone Steve keeps on at all times rings during the third silent meal in a row and the sheer look of _relief_ on Steve’s face is the last straw. Bucky’s drinking glass cracks down the middle as he slams it onto the table, but he doesn’t care. Steve, the coward, doesn’t even meet his gaze as he answers.

Storming from the room, Bucky punches his fist through the wall where he’s hidden his tac-gear and is suited up before Steve can finish getting a sit rep from Tony. It’s not the Hydra gear, that he burned in a glorious bonfire, though it mostly looks the same. The function is also similar, but the main difference is the mask. Tony had had a field day adding tech to it. There are air filters so now it functions like a gas mask, radio transmitters for communication, and chemical readers that can detect anything from poison aerosol to radioactivity. The goggle-like glasses are bulletproof, one-way glass that communicates with the tech in the mask to assist with tracking targets, and can switch to night vision or heat vision with a verbal command. The professional in him _loves_ the gear, but he’s avoided using it for so many reasons. Now he’d be excited if he wasn’t already so pissed off.

Grabbing Steve’s duffle and shield, Bucky stalks into the kitchen and Steve’s eyes grow as wide as they can go.

“T-Tony, I- I’ll call you back,” he stutters into the phone.

As soon as he hangs up, Bucky throws Steve’s gear at his chest and the shield at his feet. Steve stares, then scrambles up and shakes his head.

“Bucky, you’re not cleared for-“

It takes him two steps to get in Steve’s space. He pulls the glasses off, glares at the man who is _supposed_ to trust him with anything. Share _anything_.

“Who’s going to stop me?” he demands, “You?”

The arm clicks and whirs, recalibrating in reaction to his desire to tear something apart. Steve’s eyes flick to it and he swallows, then steps deliberately away from Bucky.

“The Taskmaster has been spotted in Chicago,” Steve says, an edge of defeat shading his voice that Bucky will not feel guilty for. “Iron Man is dealing with a threat in Dubai. No one can reach Hawkeye, and War Machine is on a peacekeeping mission in Syria. It’ll just be us, Sam, and Natasha. A quinjet will be here to pick us up in twenty. Sam’s on his way, Natasha’s piloting. We’ll go over mission objectives while we fly.”

“Copy,” is the only response Bucky has.

He pushes the glasses back in place and waits. Steve was changing as he spoke so he doesn’t have to wait long. As he pulls on those garish red boots, someone knocks on their door and doesn’t wait for it to be opened. Sam, his own duffle over his shoulder, takes one look at Bucky and actually drops his gear in surprise.

“Steve?” he questions warily.

“He’s coming with,” Steve says curtly.

“He is?” Sam, bless him, looks skeptical, not scared.

Steve gives his best friend a long suffering look.

“ _You_ going to stop him?”

The arm recalibrates. Both Sam and Steve glance at him from the corners of their eyes.

“No, I like my bones unbroken, thanks,” Sam says and begins getting ready.

They’re on the top floor of the building, Sharon living next door, so they can hustle to the roof without being spotted once the quinjet lands. Natasha doesn’t even look twice at him when she glances back from the pilot's seat. That’s why she’s his favorite of all the Avengers. Barton is also a professional, but he would have said something sarcastic.

Claiming a seat in the back, Bucky starts going over his weaponry. They have an hour to Chicago and it’s been awhile since he stashed the gear in their wall at home. He takes the time to disassemble, clean, and reassemble his guns, clean and inspect his knives, and run a brief diagnostic on comm systems in his mask and glasses. The lull also gives Steve time to explain his presence to Sam and Nat, or rather _not_ explain as he doesn’t really tell them anything except Bucky refused to stay home. They’re skeptical, but completely dedicated to Steve, so they don’t argue.

The rundown on the Taskmaster is straightforward. He’s the guy all the bad guys hire to train their goons, and for good reason. With the ability to study and memorize anyone’s fighting style, he’s nigh undefeatable in one-on-one combat. He seems to be in Chicago to set up a new facility, the last one having been taken down by Ant-Man a few months back. For some reason Bucky can’t understand, the government wants him brought in alive, so that’s the plan. Steve, Bucky, and Natasha will engage the Taskmaster and take him down with force. Sam will cover them from the air in case the Taskmaster calls in backup.

It’s a stupid plan, but Bucky’s followed too many of those to start complaining now. It’s only ended badly for him once, after all. He’s also probably overreacting since he’s pissed off at Steve. All his training, however, says take the guy at range with a single shot to the head. From the way Natasha keeps glancing at him, he thinks she feels the same.

Later, when she tells him in Russian, “Glad you’re on this one,” he knows he’s right.

The report has their target in a two story building just outside the main city. Sam will cover the perimeter. Steve will storm the front while Natasha and Bucky infiltrate the back and try to catch the Taskmaster by surprise. To keep casualties to a minimum, they plan to keep the fighting limited to the building itself. It is, all things considered, a good plan. Not the _best_ plan, but Bucky’s had five days not getting what he wants, what’s one more thing?

The quinjet drops them off on the roof and Steve runs to the edge without a word and jumps off the side. Bucky wants to strangle him and his arm whirs with the force of his anger. Instead of shouting obscenities, he turns and heads for the skylight that he and Natasha have silently agreed is the best spot for infiltration.

“What’s with you two?” Natasha asks as she deactivates the simple alarm system.

“We’re fighting,” Bucky answers because there’s no reason, except Steve’s pride, not to. “Either I hit someone else, or I hit him. This is better for my mental stability.”

“Fair enough. Just keep your head in the game, James.”

He loves how she just accepts things and moves on to the important matters.

“Not a problem,” he assures.

They don’t speak again as they pop open the window and shimmy down a rope to the second floor landing. The building is mostly open, the first floor completely so. The second has open spaces which only stretch across half the area with a balcony looking down onto the first floor, and a few cramped offices in the back. It’s dusty, but clear of furniture or trash. There’s no one in sight, but they can hear a fight already in progress from somewhere below the floor.

“Steve, get him out from under the second floor,” Natasha whispers as she and Bucky drop silently to the second floor landing and creep towards the balcony.

In a way, Steve does what she asks as his entire six foot frame goes flying out from beneath them, slides across the tiled floor, and thumps to a stop against the far wall. Slowly he climbs back to his feet. In the few minutes he and Bucky have been apart he’s taken a massive beating and it shows.

“Someone’s been doing their homework,” Steve taunts, trying to hold the Taskmaster’s focus on him. “Thing is, I can do this all day. Can you?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but it works because the Taskmaster comes running at Steve from under the balcony in a full charge. Natasha jumps first, her legs wrapping around the Taskmaster’s neck while simultaneously delivering a vicious blow with her Widow’s bite. He screams, but doesn’t hesitate to reach up, grab her by the hair and rip her forward.

She slams onto her back as the fucker _laughs_.

“Hello, Natasha,” he says happily and launches a kick at her side while twisting to avoid the shield Steve’s thrown at his back.

Bucky can’t stop the kick, but the Taskmaster is clearly not expecting his metal fist to connect with his ribcage. He’d put everything the metal arm has behind the blow and it lifts the bastard off his feet and tosses him almost as far as he’d thrown Steve.

Quickly on her feet, Natasha stands partially in front of Bucky while Steve jogs up to stand on his other side. He knows what they’re hoping, that that will have taken the Taskmaster out, but there’s no such luck. The man climbs to his feet, holding his side, but not nearly as injured as Steve already is.

“Winter Soldier.” The Taskmaster licks his lips, white paint from his skull mask flaking away. “I didn’t expect to see you again. Ever.”

“Surprise,” Bucky growls.

“He hasn’t seen you fight,” Steve pants, “Hang back, help when you see an opening. Don’t let him learn you.”

“Copy,” Bucky growls.

Stepping to the side, he palms a knife with his left hand and watches as Steve and Natasha rush the Taskmaster. They fight well together, but every time they telegraph their attacks to the other, the Taskmaster reads them like a book. Bucky does as he’s told, staying back and watching the son of a bitch bloody his friend’s nose and break his lover’s fingers so he can’t hold the shield any more. It’s its own kind of agony, but he doesn’t engage until Natasha tries to get her garrote around the Taskmaster’s neck. He gets an arm up in time, catching the wire, but it leaves him with only one hand to deflect the punches Steve is still throwing despite his injury. 

With a quick step to the side, Bucky slips into the Taskmaster’s blind spot and rushes in. The guy’s good, so he knows the attack is coming and trips Steve to give himself extra room to maneuver. Then he twists, somehow catching hold of Natasha and flinging her over his head, straight at Bucky.

It’s a good strategy, but the Winter Soldier trained the Widows, and he can fight with Natasha as instinctively as he can fight with Steve. She flies at him and he drops the knife to catch her, twists her like a dance partner, and uses that momentum to throw her right back. She’s the best for a reason, and recovers perfectly. Grabbing the Taskmaster’s shoulders, she flips over his back, plants her feet on his spine and sends him sailing across the room. He may know all of Natasha’s moves, but that wasn’t something he could see coming. 

Before the Taskmaster’s even hit the ground, Bucky runs past Natasha and catches up with him as he slides over the tiles. He gets a good kick to the Taskmaster’s jaw, but the man grabs his other ankle, yanks, and sends him tumbling to the ground. Twisting as he goes, Bucky lands his entire weight on the villain’s chest and hears the air rush from his lungs.

Then they’re grappling, throwing knees and elbows in a bid to get the upper hand. In his periphery, Bucky can see Natasha circling and Steve standing by, but interference from anyone could tip the battle in either direction so they stay out of it. Which is just fine by Bucky; this is why he’s here. It’s nasty, brutal fighting and he takes as good as he gives. They break each other’s ribs. Bucky breaks the Taskmaster’s nose. The Taskmaster dislocates his flesh shoulder, knocks loose his mask, and then one of Bucky’s teeth. Then Bucky gets his metal arm under the fucker’s chin and _squeezes_. The bastard goes nuts, but Steve is in the mix now, grabbing hold of the Taskmaster’s feet and sitting on them so Bucky doesn’t even have to bother. Within a minute it’s over. 

Stepping in, Natasha slaps weird looking bracelets on his wrists that lock to each other behind the man’s back. Bucky spits blood onto the white tiled floor and she glances in his direction, but he shakes his head and uses the metal arm to put his shoulder back into its socket. The flesh shoulder is a weakness people go for, even Steve, and it’s not the first or last time he’s had to set it.

“Target acquired,” Steve is saying into the comms as Bucky retrieves his mask and puts it back in place. “Sam and Nat take him to the jet. Bucky and I have business; we’ll be there in a bit.”

Bucky looks over at that and finds Steve staring at him with an expression he’s shocked to find he can’t read. He knows all of Steve’s expressions, yet this isn’t one he knows. It’s parts lust, regret, and _something_. It’s not embarrassment, or pride, there’s too much pain to be those. 

Sam comes inside and he helps Natasha carry the Taskmaster to the roof. It’s very ungentlemanly of both Bucky and Steve, but Bucky just doesn’t give a shit right now. He glares at Steve from behind his glasses and Steve flinches like he can feel it. Not that he moves, he holds perfectly still, staring at Bucky until the door to the building clangs shut. The anger that Bucky has excised fighting the Taskmaster comes back full force. He’s not at all sure he even wants to hear what Steve has to say any more.

As soon as Natasha and Sam are gone, Steve pulls off his ear piece and shuts it off, tossing the expensive comms unit aside. Bucky hesitates, then mutes his own, but doesn’t take off either the mask or goggles. He’s not giving Steve an inch. Not after five god-damned days of this bullshit.

Steve gets the hint because he frowns, glances at the door and then puts himself between Bucky and it. As if that would stop him, but he lets Steve think he can’t leave. Not that he thinks he’s going to. When things almost come to blows he does, but this time feels different. As though acknowledging that, the arm whirs and recalibrates, drawing Steve’s gaze.

Cool blue eyes snap back up to his face as Steve blurts, “Hit me, then.”

“What?” Bucky hisses.

His body reacts without his permission. Right leg steps back, pivoting him to the side to present his left arm as the closest target for whatever shit Steve is up to. The position hides the rest of him, the soft spots, so an attack would hit the metal arm and glance off. If only it worked that way with words, too.

“Hit me,” Steve says again. He drops his shield, pulls off his helmet and walks forward until he’s well within Bucky’s range of moment. “I know you want to, and I deserve it. So, hit me.”

Bucky flexes his metal arm nervously. This is...new. He doesn’t like it when things are new, not when those things involve Steve. Two new things in the span of five minutes is too much. Bucky is off balance, wrong footed, and he _hates_ that. 

“Not until you tell me what the hell the last week has been about.”

The blood drains from Steve’s face, but then he clenches his _fucking_ jaw and Bucky is swinging before he can stop himself. His flesh fist connects with Steve’s stubborn, ‘I’m not backing down’, All-American chin, and Steve stumbles back. Immediately, Bucky feels like the biggest heel in the universe and back pedals several feet. His hand aches inordinately, like he’s punched Steve over and over and over, not just once. How could he do even that? How could he hurt Steve again?

“The hell is the matter with you?!” he shouts, but now all the anger is for himself. “Why would you make me _do_ that?!”

Turning away, he has to get out of here. Get away. From this, from Steve, from himself. He doesn’t care where, so long as it’s away. Because if he can’t control himself when he’s just Bucky; he can’t stay with Steve.

He gets three steps when Steve tackles him to the ground, arms about his waist. They tumble to the floor, Bucky trying to get away, Steve trying to pin him down. It’s only for a moment because Steve fights with all he’s got and the only way to get away is to hurt Steve again and he _can’t_. After that realization, it takes little effort for Steve to get him on his back, both arms pinned under Steve’s uninjured hand.

“Steve,” Bucky pleads, “Steve, please, get off. Let me go.”

But he’s not listening. Steve pulls the glasses from his face, then the mask. Bucky’s eyes have fixed on the bruises blossoming on Steve’s jaw and it hurts so bad to know he did that. Not some asshole bent on world destruction, him. Bucky Barnes.

“You can’t run,” Steve says, “If you run, I’ll never talk about it and we’ll fall apart. You gotta stop treating me like I’m fragile, Buck. I’m not. You hit me and I’m still here. I’m _fine_.”

Anguish fills Bucky and he forgets, for the moment, what they were fighting about.

“I almost killed you, Stevie. I’ve almost killed you so many times. Please, I can’t. Not again.”

He surges up enough to test Steve’s hold. The hand on his wrists would be easy to escape. Steve can’t get a better hold with his broken fingers. There’s a chance he’d make those worse, though, and he’d have to throw Steve off him hard enough to bruise to get out of reach. He can’t do either, so he falls limp again.

“Get off me.”

“No,” Steve says, “We all make mistakes, Buck. When I was actually breakable, you were never this squeamish about kicking my ass when I deserved it and I do. After what I did, and it wasn’t the first time, I know I deserve it. If you’re mad at me, I can take it. Just don’t run from me anymore.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bucky demands. “ _You’ve_ been avoiding me!”

None of what Steve said makes sense. This is the first time they’ve ever fought like this, the longest they’ve ever gone without speaking or sex, so he’s not sure what Steve is talking about. He swallows, because maybe it isn’t the first time. Has this been happening and he’s been forgetting? Is this distance common and he can’t remember? If it is… If he’s losing Steve…

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” Bucky shouts, panicking now and Steve is _still not fucking talking to him_. “What did you do? Not the first time for _what_?”

Instead of answering like someone sane, Steve bites his lip and that _look_ is back The one Bucky doesn’t know. Did he forget, or is it new?

Steve’s grip loosens on his wrists like he’s about to pull away and it’s too much.

“ _No_ , this is _not over_ ,” Bucky snarls.

Wrapping his legs around Steve’s hips, he twists and flips them over. Steve gasps, but goes and now Bucky is holding him down and he can keep Steve there as long as he wants. They both know it.

“Talk to me!” Bucky demands, heedless of the panic in his own voice. “What did I forget? What did you _do_ , Steve? No!” he shouts when Steve looks away. “Don’t you leave me in this alone! _Talk to me_. We’re supposed to be in this together and you keep shutting me out, pushing me away. I’m _losing_ you and I can’t _stop it!_ ”

That, finally, seems to get Steve’s attention.

“No, Bucky no,” he struggles and Bucky gives him his hands because he doesn’t think Steve is trying to get away. The hands frame his face, thumbs brushing soothingly over his skin. “I’m not- You can’t ever lose me.”

“Then _talk_ to me,” Bucky pleads. “I can’t remember and I don’t know what’s happened. You’re so distant. I nearly killed that man, I _wanted_ to, and I hit you and this can’t keep going on. Please,” Bucky leans heavily on Steve’s chest, tucking his face against his throat, “Please.”

He’s pressed so tight to Steve, he can feel his throat bob as he swallows. Then he wraps Bucky tight, holds him close, and rolls them on to their sides. Bucky clutches at his uniform when he’s pulled into an even tighter embrace.

“I was,” Steve swallows again and Bucky grips his uniform tighter, “We got in a fight, about a week ago, and you…You left, then when you came back I- I thought you wanted it. We were, against the wall, you… You seemed-“

Bucky remembers this, so what Steve’s saying isn’t making a lot of sense. Lifting his face, he peeks up at Steve, but he’s looking away with _that look_ again. The too-painful embarrassment that Bucky doesn’t recognize.

Then Steve says, “But you couldn’t have because the Winter Soldier took over to protect you and I’m so, so sorry,” and Bucky realizes the look is shame. Steve is ashamed. It’s not an expression he’s seen since before the serum, and it doesn’t look right on this bigger version of Steve Rogers.

Oblivious of Bucky’s disbelief, Steve stammers, “I r-raped you and I’m so, so sorry. I never meant- I only- I thought you wa-“

It’s insensitive, but Bucky snorts. Instantly, Steve shuts up and looks at him in a mixture of wounded-puppy-dog, irritation and that awful shame.

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Bucky says sternly, “There is no world in which _you_ could rape _me_. I do remember that fight, as a matter of fact, and I’ve been pissed as shit that you didn’t _finish_ what you _started_.”

“What?”

Steve looks shocked, so Bucky takes pity on him.

“I don’t know why I flipped, Stevie, but I promise it had nothing to do with what you were doing to me. I love it when you get all out of control like that, needing me so bad you can’t take the time to get me out of my clothes and rip them off.”

The shame is gone now and Bucky wants to make sure it _never_ comes back, so he doesn’t stop talking.

“I love it when you fuck me against the wall, or over the couch, or in the kitchen. Never in a bed, because you need me right then. You’re wound so tight, Stevie, and then when you let go like that it’s the fucking hottest thing I’ve ever seen. If you wanted it, my ass would be yours every damn night.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks hesitantly. “So I didn’t-“

“No,” Bucky states firmly. “Never. I wouldn’t let you, baby.”

Steve takes a breath and looks chagrined.

“Um, I’m sorry then, for…not talking to you.”

Bucky narrows his eyes and grabs Steve by the ear like Sarah Rogers used to.

“You don’t ever do this again,” Bucky growls. “Not ever. I was going out of my mind, punk.”

“Ow, ow, okay!” Steve gasps and Bucky lets him go. “I promise, Buck. I’ll…I’ll work on talking about…about…” He takes a deep breath, squints his eyes closed and says, “sex.”

It’s so adorable, Bucky kisses him. Steve sputters and pulls back quickly.

“Ugh, Buck, you taste like blood.”

“Yeah, well,” Bucky climbs to his feet and helps Steve up, “I need to go see a dentist after that fight.”

Steve frowns.

“I’m sorry.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and bends down to pick up their discarded things.

“You’re gonna keep doing that, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“Sayin’ you’re sorry.”

“Well, I am. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t say?” Bucky says sarcastically as he tosses Steve his ear piece. “How about you make it up to me instead of repeating that pointlessly after I’ve forgiven you?”

“Okay,” Steve smiles, catching the device and hooking it back onto his ear. “What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bucky says casually, leading the way to the stairs that lead to the roof, “You could _finish what you started_. We haven’t fucked in five days and my balls are as blue as Neptune.”

“That’s not a description I needed, Barnes,” Sam calls from the open door two flights above them.

“Well, blame Steve,” he calls back, “It’s his fucking fault, or his not fucking, really.”

Steve does a passable impression of a tomato. 

“Too much information,” Sam says, “Seriously.”

Natasha pokes her head around the doorway to look down at them.

“If it makes you fight like that, he should cut you off before every mission.”

“Who’s watching the prisoner?” Steve demands, but no one’s taking him seriously with how squeaky he sounds. Nevertheless, Natasha and Sam both go back to the quinjet as Bucky and Steve climb the last of the stairs.

“So?” Bucky demands as he holds the door for Steve. “We gotta deal?”

“Deal,” Steve mutters and fixes Bucky with a look of pure _lust_ that it goes straight to his cock and leaves him in pain for most of the trip back to D.C. It doesn’t help that Steve keeps looking back at him when he thinks Natasha and Sam aren’t paying attention and eye-fucking him in his seat. Bucky can’t even bring himself to be mad about it, though. He is _finally_ going to get laid.

Without having to be asked, Natasha drops both Steve and Bucky back at their apartment. They troop down the stairs and Bucky realizes they’re both in dire need of a shower before anything else can happen. He kicks off his boots, lets Steve do the same, then grabs the collar of the patriotic uniform and hauls Steve into their bathroom.

“I thought I was supposed to be seducing you,” Steve laughs.

“You are, _after_ we’re clean,” Bucky insists. “By the way, how fucked is my face?”

“Vanity is a sin, Barnes.”

“That’s pride, Stevie. Besides, I gotta make sure he didn’t mess with my money maker.”

Steve laughs again as he turns on the water.

“You’re as pretty a dame as ever there was,” Steve teases and it’s _so good_ to have this back.

Grabbing Steve again – they’re really going to have to reevaluate this suit because it’s just too easy for someone to get their hands on Steve – Bucky pulls him close and starts stripping him down. It’s a far easier time than Steve has dealing with the myriad of buckles that keep Bucky inside his gear, but Steve is enthusiastic and they’re both equally naked by the time the hot shower is filling the room with steam.

“Come ‘ere,” Steve mutters and pulls Bucky to him for a kiss. It’s short, the blood probably, but he doesn’t stop there, and pulls Bucky all the way into the shower. Bucky quickly takes a mouthful of water, swishes and spits, making Steve laugh. He then pulls Bucky into a hard kiss, thrusting his tongue into Bucky’s mouth and proving his theory correct.

They keep kissing as they shower, trading places under the water and soaping each other up. The kisses alternate between slow and lingering, and rough and passionate. Though their cocks keep brushing against each other, they ignore the obvious temptation for the time being.

When they’re clean, Bucky reaches for the faucet to turn off the water only to break their kiss when Steve grabs his hand. As he turns them to press Bucky against the shower wall, he looks more nervous than turned on.

“You don’t have to-“ Bucky starts.

“No, I just-“ Before, that’s all he’d get from Steve, but now he’s trying so he swallows and adds, “You’re sure you want this?”

“You know how cold it gets on Neptune?” Bucky demands. “My balls are gonna freeze and fall the fuck off, Steve. I want this so bad it hurts. Want you to fuck me through the wall. Plow me into tomorrow. Put your dick in me and make me scream. Do it hard a-

Though he’s been turning increasing and impressive shade of red, Steve flips Bucky around, shoves him against the wall, and then his mouth is on Bucky’s ass. It’s so startling – Steve’s never done this before - that Bucky’s metal fist breaks tile as he cries out. That, in turn, startles Steve who moves like he’s going to _stop_ and Bucky _cannot let that happen_.

“I did not say cheesecake!” he gasps, “Fuckin’ eat me, Stevie. Jesus, why haven’t you done this sooner?”

Steve, thankfully, takes the hint and doesn’t answer. His tongue plunges past Bucky’s rim, fucking into him and Bucky’s knees go weak. It’s as amazing as Steve’s reaction, when they’re switched, suggested it would be. It feels like he’s melting as Steve’s tongue licks him open, licks and licks and Bucky can’t think of enough filthy things to say to express how fucking incredible it feels. When he runs out, he moans and pushes back onto Steve’s tongue. 

“No, no, no,” Bucky whines when it abruptly ends. “Please, felt so good, baby-“

“Shh,” Steve whispers in his ear, the length of him suddenly pressed to Bucky’s back. An arm snakes around Bucky’s waist, the other guiding himself so that the head of his cock is pressed against Bucky’s licked open hole. “Gonna fuck you, now.”

It’s said in a whisper, but it’s actually _said_ and Bucky loses it.

“Oh, yes, _yes_. Do _that_. Fuck me, Stevie. Hard, please, _God!_ ”

Bucky shouts the last as Steve presses inside him, slow and steady. Arching against the cool shower wall, Bucky cries out as inch after inch of Steve Rogers slides inside him, pinning him there against the tile.

“The mouth on you,” Steve moans and it’s obvious he loves it.

“Need you so bad, baby,” Bucky babbles, “Can’t wait any longer. Don’t hold back. Don’t; give it to me. Ha-”

Biting down on Bucky’s shoulder, making him cry out, Steve complies. His hips snap back and then forward, impaling Bucky on his entire length. Bucky cries out, head falling back and then forward again. Without any slick but water it fucking burns, but he loves it. The pain is grounding, keeping the pleasure from overwhelming him. It soon fades anyways, leaving only pleasure as Steve doesn’t hold back. His arm holds them off the wall, the other around Bucky’s waist holding him up and steady, and he plows Bucky just like he needs. 

“You know how hot you were, Buck?” Steve whispers in his ear. “It was so hot, watching you take that guy down.”

“Steve,” Bucky groans. He doesn’t even care that Steve can’t say the words louder. It’s the first time he’s said anything at all when inside Bucky.

“Wanted you right then and there, everyone else be damned.”

It’s been a week, so Bucky wouldn’t have lasted long. Now, with Steve whispering in his ear, he knows he’s done for.

“Stevie, gonna come, baby,” Bucky babbles, “Need you to- With me. Soon. _Fuck_ …”

To his left, Bucky breaks more tiles and Steve laughs, wild and pleased. He somehow finds it in him to fuck Bucky _harder_ and Bucky can’t last any longer. His knees give out as he comes, but Steve holds him up, keeps fucking him. Shivering as Steve just uses him – and _fuck_ that’s hot – Bucky gasps as Steve bites down on his shoulder again and then stills. He spills himself inside Bucky, and doesn’t release his skin until he’s done.

“So good, baby,” Bucky croons, his voice rough and shattered. “God, you gotta do that again.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, somehow shy again, and eases them both so they’re curled together on the shower floor.

“You’re stupider than I thought if you think I didn’t love that,” Bucky says. “Every bit. Your mouth on me, all those things you said? Yeah, loved it.”

Steve bites his lip, then smiles, and it’s beautiful.

“Well, we’ll just have to do it again, then. Can’t leave you on Neptune.”

“No,” Bucky agrees with a laugh, “Fuck Neptune.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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**Author's Note:**

> There is now a sequel to Cheesecake! Part 2 of Remembering Steve Rogers is called Bucky Barnes vs the Super Adaptoid. It got its own story as there will be a lot less smut, but same old Steve and Bucky.  
>  
> 
> [Follow me on Tumblr ](http://cleo4u.tumblr.com/)


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